


Queliot Tumblr Prompts

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: a collection of short prompts originally posted to tumblr
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 22
Kudos: 68





	1. Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: [queliot on the second week of social distancing with each other in their apartment.](https://lizardkingeliot.tumblr.com/post/612980030967021568/queliot-on-the-second-week-of-social-distancing)

Quentin flopped down into what Eliot had been lovingly referring to as their _Sex Nest_ for days. The _Sex Nest_ , for the record, was a mass of pillows and blankets all piled together where the coffee table used to be. Easier access to the kitchen, Eliot had said, and honestly, he hadn’t been wrong. Angled just right, his telekinesis could refill their water glass and fetch snacks from the fridge without either of them having to move. They only had to leave the _Nest_ for bathroom breaks and showers. He had to admit, being quarantined had its advantages.

Quentin snuggled against Eliot’s chest with a sigh. “Do you think we should get some fresh air or something?”

Eliot kissed the top of Quentin’s head. “You saying you want me to fuck you on the balcony?”

Quentin huffed a laugh. “Maybe.” He gazed up into Eliot’s eyes. “But I was thinking more about how we haven’t been outside in… ten days?”

“Not true,” Eliot said with a smile. “I picked up our takeout in the hallway last night. I was technically outside of the penthouse then.”

Quentin considered him with a smirk. “Pretty sure that doesn’t count, El.”

Eliot sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I have a not insignificant amount of Hoberman’s finest stashed away. You wanna go get stoned?”

“We said we weren’t smoking until this was over, remember?”

“Right,” Eliot groaned softly. “How could I possibly forget I haven’t had a cigarette in… so long.”

Quentin hummed, pressing a kiss to the center of Eliot’s chest. “Haven’t heard you complaining,” he said, and Eliot shot him a grin.

“Hard to complain when I’ve got your dick in my mouth instead.”

A fit of silent laughter rolled through Quentin. “Yeah. You’re welcome,” he said, then sighed, settling back against Eliot’s chest. “We could make magic brownies.”

Eliot considered this for a moment. “That sounds like so much work.”

“Yeah,” Quentin said. “Too much.”

Eliot pressed a kiss into Quentin’s hair. “Maybe later.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Quentin shut his eyes. Eventually, something might come along more tempting than the comfort of Eliot’s sleep-warm body. Maybe. For now, he was content to stay just like this, Eliot’s heart thumping slowly in his ear. Warm, strong hands on his skin, tracing circles into his back. The gentle push-pull of Eliot’s breath slowing as he drifted into dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently accepting prompts over on [tumblr](https://lizardkingeliot.tumblr.com/ask) if anyone wants to submit one. The softer the better. 💖


	2. Puppy Pile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: [mutha'-fuckin' puppy pile/cuddle puddle.](https://lizardkingeliot.tumblr.com/post/612983795014074368/mutha-fuckin-puppy-pilecuddle-puddle)

Eliot had been drifting, his head knocking against the back of the sofa, his drink a couple slack fingers away from shattering to the floor. Margo nudged him in the shoulder, “I wanna fucking cuddle,” she said, and Eliot jolted awake.

“So cuddle,” he said, blinking the sleep from his eyes, sending his drink to the nearest flat surface with a flick of his wrist. “Come here.”

“No,” she said, pulling a face. “That’s so boring. I wanna do a puppy pile.”

She looked to the only other people present in the Cottage—Julia and Quentin—who were all but oblivious on the sectional across the room, heavy books open in both their laps.

“Coldwater, Wicker,” Margo raised her voice. “You wanna puppy pile with us?”

Quentin’s eyebrows knitted together adorably. “Do I wanna… what?”

“Come on,” she said, jumping to her feet. “It’s Saturday. There’s plenty of time to be losers during the week.”

Quentin and Julia looked to each other, then back to Margo, then across the room to Eliot. Eliot shrugged and smiled. He didn’t hate the idea of cuddle piles in general—bonus points if he’d just taken molly, which sadly he had not—but a cuddle pile with Coldwater in the mix? Eliot was fucking here for it.

He pulled himself to his feet, slinging an arm around Margo’s shoulders. “I think what Bambi is trying to say is… you both look like you could use a break.”

Julia eyed him with suspicion. “Cuddle break?”

“Don’t make it sound so perverted,” Margo said. “El and I do it all the time.”

Quentin met Julia’s eyes, then turned his attention back to Eliot and Margo. “Okay,” he said, slowly shutting his book. “I’ll, um… cuddle?”

“See,” Margo said, grinning up at Eliot. “Told you he was a freak.”

Quentin frowned, and Eliot shook his head. Cautiously, Julia shut her book and tossed it to the floor. Eliot didn’t think he’d ever seen Margo look more pleased.

They gathered every cushion and pillow from every sofa and chair in the common area, making a giant pile in the middle of the room. Margo was the first to drape herself decadently on their makeshift bed.

“Don’t be shy,” she said. “That means you, Wicker.”

Eliot didn’t hesitate, lying with his head in Margo’s lap. Quentin and Julia stood around the periphery of the pile, exchanging glances that felt like dares, like neither of them could find the courage to go first.

Finally, Eliot held out his arms. “Come on, Quentin,” he said. “Daddy’s getting restless.”

A blush spread over Quentin’s face, and Eliot imagined it spreading down to his toes. Still, it got him moving, and it wasn’t long before Quentin was crawling over and resting his head in the vicinity of Eliot’s chest. That was all the motivation Julia needed. She snuggled up at Margo’s side. For a moment, everything was quiet.

Then, like the room had breathed a collective sigh, everybody started to relax. Stiff bodies went soft and still. Eliot glanced up at Margo, who was carding her fingers through Julia’s hair, grinning from ear-to-ear. He turned his attention to Quentin next, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him a little closer to his chest.

“Is this okay?” Eliot asked, softly, the words intended for no one but Quentin.

“Yeah,” Quentin said, smiling, his blush growing a little deeper. “It’s, um… more than okay, El.”


	3. Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: [Post monster soup making cause sick](https://lizardkingeliot.tumblr.com/post/613057091023847424/quietstorm-thundathighs-replied-to-your-post-if)

It had been two weeks since Margo’s axe blade ripped the Monster out of Eliot’s belly, and most days he still felt like he was being held together with staples and glue. Magic had been saved, Professor Lipson had healed him, but Eliot’s body didn’t seem to care. His wounds, he knew, were something deeper than flesh.

Eliot was laid up in the master suite, bingeing The Great British Bake Off on the laptop he’d swiped from Julia, taking swigs from his bottomless flask and feeling miserable. Life, he thought, would be much simpler as a baking competition. Measuring stresses in sugar and flour. No magic, no monsters. No broken brains and bones. 

The bedroom door creaked open, and Eliot lifted his eyes from the screen. Quentin was standing in the doorway, clasping a serving tray in his hands, a steaming bowl of something balanced in the middle.

“Hey,” Quentin said.

Eliot shut the laptop and set it on the nightstand. “Hey.”

“I thought, um…” Quentin stepped into the room, nudging the door shut behind him. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Eliot’s stomach groaned at the scent of food. It hadn’t occurred to him until just then how little he’d eaten in days. Quentin came over to the bed and set the tray over his lap. Eliot gazed down into the bowl, then back to Quentin, a smile tugging at his lips.

“You made me chicken soup,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s, um…” Quentin fidgeted, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s the way my dad used to make it. Sort of. Um, Josh helped, so…”

Eliot’s heart stumbled a little, watching a blush grow over Quentin’s cheeks. “It looks amazing, Q,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Quentin said, and then he turned to leave.

“Wait,” Eliot called after him. “You don’t have to, uh… you can stay. If you want.”

Quentin stopped in his tracks and spun around. “Okay,” he said, and walked back over to perch on the edge of the bed.

Eliot ate his soup. It was, he thought, the most delicious thing he’d ever put in his mouth. The whole not eating in days thing probably had something to do with it. When he was finished, he let his spoon clang down into the empty bowl. Quentin was watching him, a smile softening his face and eyes.

“Good?”

Eliot sighed. “Fucking spectacular, my love.”

Shit. Eliot’s heart clenched. For a moment, neither of them moved. Things had been weird between them post-Monster, and whatever they were to each other at the moment—pining aside—Eliot didn’t think it was… that.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” Quentin said, rising to his feet. “You don’t, um… you don’t have to be sorry for…”

Their eyes met for a stretch of awkward seconds. Eliot’s pulse picked up, ticking like a countdown in his neck. Quentin took the tray from Eliot’s lap and set it on the floor. 

“Is there anything else I can do?” Quentin asked. “Do you need… anything?”

Eliot blinked, a litany of desires wheeling through his brain. Quentin smiled, and his decision was made. Now or never, Waugh. “Um, yeah actually…” He took a breath, telling himself he could always play it off as a joke if the universe didn’t see fit to reward him for his bravery. “How do you feel about cuddling?”

For a moment, everything was still, and then Quentin’s face lit up in a smile. “I, uh… I feel good about… that.”

Eliot could feel his cheeks flushing a deep shade of scarlet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Quentin said, stepping closer. “Turn over.”

Eliot smiled, feeling just this side of delirious. Had it been so easy all this time? He blushed deeper, turning his back to Quentin and… waiting. Just waiting. His body a tight line of anticipation. It was very hard to breathe. And then, the mattress dipped under Quentin’s weight, and a warm body was pressing all along his back. Quentin’s arm snaked around his middle, pulling him close, lips skirting along the nape of Eliot’s neck.

“Is this good?” Quentin asked, and Eliot let out a tremendous breath.

“Yeah,” Eliot said. “It’s perfect.”

Quentin was warm, so warm, and for the first time in weeks—months, years—Eliot thought he might actually feel safe. Like maybe, finally, he’d found his way back home. Like maybe he hadn’t needed magic to heal him. Maybe he’d only needed this. A little chicken soup and Quentin holding him tightly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck.


	4. Bathtub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: [queliot + baths](https://lizardkingeliot.tumblr.com/post/614317162368286720/soft-prompt-for-you-to-work-on-queliot-and-baths)

The bathtub in their new apartment was practically the size of a swimming pool. Quentin had insisted on it. “To soak your muscles,” he’d said. “Since, you know, you’re still healing.”

And Eliot wasn’t about to argue with that. Even if his body was all but recovered from the trauma of being kidnapped by a god monster, then slashed wide open with a magic battle axe. Because he didn’t hate the idea of luxuriating in a bath scented with oils and those expensive bath bombs Margo liked to buy him, in his own space every night for the rest of forever. He double didn’t hate the idea of Quentin joining in, and the way his skin would feel and smell when they curled into bed together after.

It was ridiculous, really, that they should even be able to fit such a thing in a place the size of a postage stamp. But magic was good like that. All it took was a couple days of tedious spell work to turn their one bedroom walkup into the TARDIS. So, swimming pool soaker tub. A twenty-acre bed. A sectional that could easily seat every person they’d ever met and then some. One corner of their living room was transformed into the home bar of Eliot’s dreams, all sleek lines and hardwood and golden light. Quentin had a reading nook cut right into his bookcase, like the ones they had at the Cottage. 

Everything, somehow, was really fucking good. Eliot could hardly believe it. A life like this should have been for someone else. Yet there he was, living it like he deserved it. Like maybe, just maybe, this was the shiny pot of gold at the end of his rainbow. A reward for multiple lifetimes overflowing with blood, sweat, and loss.

And tonight, Eliot’s reward was this: sitting on the edge of his ridiculous bathtub, a glass of cab clutched between his fingers, watching Quentin soak in water swirling with enchanted gold and silver oil. His hair was getting longer, just the way that Eliot liked it, and the tips of it were skimming his shoulders. The water was up to his chest and his eyes were closed, head tipped back, his own glass of wine forgotten in all his contentment.

Eliot let his eyes skim over the curves of Quentin’s knees where they were peeking out of the water. “Hey,” he said, a smile tugging at this mouth. “You still with me, Coldwater?”

Quentin hummed, cracking one eye open and momentarily fixing it on Eliot. “I’m here,” he mumbled. “This is nice.”

Eliot let a silent laugh roll through him. With a flick of his wrist, he sent their wine glasses over to settle on the sink. “Want me to wash your hair?” he asked, and a dopey grin spread over Quentin’s face.

“I’d rather you just get in here with me,” he said, eyes squeezed firmly shut. “C’mere.”

Eliot’s smile grew, and he stood up, untying his robe and letting it fall from his shoulders. “Make room,” he said, and after a little adjusting he slipped his body into the tub, firmly settling in behind Quentin, pulling him tightly to his chest.

“S’nice,” Quentin said with a sigh, turning his head and pressing a kiss to Eliot’s shoulder.

“It’s fucking divine, my love,” Eliot said, kissing the top of Quentin’s head, touching his skin tenderly under the water.

Quentin made a happy, sleepy sound, and Eliot could feel him drifting. “Wanna do hand stuff?” he mumbled, and Eliot’s chest swelled with so much love he didn’t understand how his body could contain it.

“Later, baby,” he said, holding Quentin close. “You can sleep if you want to. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Quentin took a shallow breath, and then another. “Okay,” he said softly. “Love you.”

Eliot brushed Quentin’s hair back, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. “I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered, letting his eyes slide shut.


End file.
